


Pinocchio

by girlsarewolves



Category: Skinwalkers (2006)
Genre: Gen, canon - script, macabre imagery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-05
Updated: 2014-04-05
Packaged: 2018-01-16 04:33:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 320
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1332028
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/girlsarewolves/pseuds/girlsarewolves
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He'd been that boy long ago, telling lies and unable to ignore the weight of them. He was losing the compassion for those who had yet to realize they were their own shackles.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Pinocchio

**Author's Note:**

> Old, old fic. Written with the script canon in mind where Caleb left willingly, but otherwise movie canon compliant, I think.

* * *

Tears of blood trailed down the lifeless faces hanging from the ceiling. The macabre sight was like a fantastical freak show; life-size, nightmarish S&M marionette puppets hanging limp after the play.

It almost saddened him. But long ago he had left behind such an emotion. He had traded his sadness, his self-hatred, his despair, his bitterness.

He became a real boy. He broke free of his bonds; he cut his own strings.

This fate would never haunt him again.

If only they could see. If only they would open their wooden eyes and see the length of their lives (their lies). If only they would stop waiting for magic from an outside source, waiting for the special boy to make them real.

Life was just one bite away on a full moon. No need to even bother wishing on that bright sphere or the millions of stars scattered around it.

Being real was so close.

Strings were easy to break with the strength of a real being; easier still to cut with claws.

He pitied them. He had seen this show before; a tragedy that repeated three nights a month. But every viewing lessened his pity.

The show was losing its charm; it didn't tug at his heartstrings quite as much anymore. The saddest part of the story was so easy to see, and yet they never realized it no matter how many times they played out their self-induced calamity.

The show did not have to go on.

He could not muster much compassion when they could easily cut their strings, escape their wooden shells; it was so easy to be real. Be free.

This night had been the last show for these puppets. Their tragic ending came for the last time; more cruel and convincing than ever before. They took their final bows. Their curtains closed for good.

The puppets no longer amused the real boys and girls.


End file.
